Writing History
by Lightfeather5632
Summary: We may not stop writing. Every passing moment, something happens, whether small or largely impacting others. You write, record, and observe. (fic for both CREEPYPASTA and MARBLEHORNETS Masky and Hoodie(OC "The Recorder" belongs to A( DONT'T FREAKIN' STEAL GAIZ(Rated T for blood... and ink ;) ))))


**The Recorder is A's personal, Original OC**, so **DO NOT STEAL, DO NOT COPY**. That ain't cool. -Light

* * *

He walked around the forest as usual, worn and used notepad held in bandaged, bloody fingers. His feet made not a sound in the dying grass. His pen filled of blood, absent of ink scribbled down history. He recorded what went about around him. Recording. Recording everything.

The blood from the blisters hidden within the ragged bandages which he was forced to wear stained the papers beneath his palms, the skin ripped, flesh wearing away. He wrote so much, too much, constantly... It took its toll long ago- but he had no choice but to keep recording. The bandage fell away and he paused briefly to rewrap it, not slowing his speed. He could feel them, they others, lurking in the shadows he strayed from to record all of which he witnessed.

They wandered where he did, just as he wandered where they did.

They didn't bother him, he didn't bother them.

He's heard some of the others fighting before- countless battles he's recorded in his eternal existence- but they never threatened him. His job was far too important... and the few minuscule things that disturbed it became ink for his pen.

Slenderman paused in his path as a familiar tan blood streaked figure passed his path a few feet away, not seeming to notice the taller creature. The Recorder. He watched in mild interest as the creature paused, dropping its precious papers and pen to the grass in order to shift the position of its bandages. A quiet hiss sound escaped it as he unwrapped the decayed flesh. It stopped. It had stopped writing.

He didn't see the other often, rarely spotting him ghost about in the darkness, but when he did he had always been writing. it was well known not to encounter the Recorder. But that was when he wrote. He stopped, should he speak to him? No, the notebook is back in his hands. It is too late. The being shuffled backwards, silent as a predator retreating from another, perhaps greater power.

He believed himself silent, yet somehow the other heard him. His head snapped around, bandages over his lips and cheeks moving as his lips parted. The hiss grew louder, more menacing. It turned gravely, painful sounding and unused. He knew the other didn't speak besides from occasionally making that hiss sound.

Slender didn't move.

He knew how this would work,

-And he was right. Slowly but surely, the smaller turned away and continued writing, walking. Slender didn't move until he was gone.

I knew he was watching. He observed me as I observed him. He stood perfectly still, not a twitch as he was trapped in my vision. He won't move. I know he won't. I am the one above him. I have been around longer than most of the other creatures in this forest, and I will stay until long after they're gone. When he was gone, I immediately wrote the encounter down, but...

My pen stopped working.

Freezing, I glanced down at the ink container. Or in my case, the blood basin.

...Empty.

'...Ink.' I hissed softly, looking up at the trees around me. The leaves to my left shook gently. Someone was nearby in that direction. A human's scream, though far away. Jeff, the crazed smily killer... he was laughing in that direction.

It was his prey.

there was unspoken rules against taking another's catch... but Jeff purpose was much less needed than his own services. It would have to be broken. He existed before the rule was created anyway, so it should not apply to _him. _Jaw setting firmly, he blinked away in that position.

Eventually, mere seconds later, he found the two, Jeff still chasing a terrified human girl. A teenager? Whatever, its usually teenagers. He soon got her backed up against one of the many clusters of trees, and I knew that was my que to drop in.

I hissed loudly enough to be noticed, stepping into the light- or rather, lighter section of the clearing until visible. The second he turned, he launched himself at me, not caring who I was. His eyes were dilated with rage, breathing ragged. I didn't care to fight, and merely held out one small hand.

My fingers bit into his pale flesh, halting him with just that as he scrabbled at my bloody arm. My lips parted to hiss louder, breathing soundlessly in a jaded warning. My pretense bore down on his until he stopped struggling, showing submission. No matter how ancient or how many warnings there were, he was a feisty one. amusing, really.

I hissed again, pulling his face closer to mine until our noses almost touched. With a small, tiny shift of my head position, I allowed him a flash of my "eyes". He shuddered despite himself. I didn't care that we were so close. I had not a care for such thoughts, and even if I did I would never give an indication that I did.

One of an external, non-reproductive life has no need for emotions. Without even a hiss necessary, I held up my pen until it was in his sight. Grumbling, he looked away and I let him go. Sulking, he trudged away.

Assuming he would just leave, I turned my attention to the girl, who sat frozen on the dirt. I chuckled, but it just sounded like I was choking on a gasp. her eyes flickered between where jeff left and back to me, as though judging if I was to be trusted. Humans... so stupid...

nothing is to be trusted here.

Slowly, silently, I approached her, allowing my bandages to loop off my rotting hands. She hiccuped, tears still streaming down her face. "...A-A-Are... Are y-you gonna k-k-kill m-e, me t-too...?" She choked out. I just smiled, though I doubt she could see it. Gently, I brushed my fingers against her cheek, delighting in her wince when my blood and bits of skin trail away from my touch against her skin.

Crawling onto her stomache, I dug my scrawny knees into her thighs, watching her face contort into realization that I was not her friend. moving quickly now, I stabbed my empty pen into her limp hand, ignoring her scream as I pinned it down to the ground with the utensil. She thrashed against me, and I grit my teeth with the effort of keeping her down. I wasn't very big after all.

...Which is why I am lethal instead.

I scratched at her adam's apple, ripping my nails down into her skin. I stripped her flesh away until I could see one of the main arteries in his neck leading to her brain. I knew I did this to store up on "ink", but I don't need it often... so not many kills. And all creatures in this forest can't hold back the yearn for gore for long. May as well as fun now.

Taking care to dissect the artery to a branching point, he removed it from her skull... grabbed hold on her spine connected in her neck... and squeezed until he could hear it crunch.

Her eyes, which had long since rolled back to show the whites still leaked tears. Her gaping mouth coughed up blood. Her head rolled nearly off her shoulders, the spine no longer holding it up, hanging off connected by strings of flesh and veins.

Ripping his trophy off the last of the strands, he placed it gently on the dry grass... and kicked it into a tree. He wheezed out a maniacal laugh as it exploded like a grenade. Blood and brains and bone flew everywhere, only amusing the hooded being when it landed on him like rain.

He didn't bother to brush it off, crouching down in a more comfortable position than standing and sighing contently. Slowly moving back to her neck, rocking side to side and hissing fading more to a gravely hum, he took his pen from her hand and filled his pen of blood.

He was startled, however when a silver cylinder shaped object slipped from her now pliant hand. Going rigid with a cut off cough, he jumped away, slowly moving back to inspect the thing. It was plain, nothing different from the silver except for a small black circle on the side. pressing down on it, a bright light unlike any he had seen in his long life in the forest blinded his "eyes". His scream came out cracky and unsure, ragged and scratchily painful in his throat.

Immediately, he dropped the light container and blinked up into a tree, crouching there in the leaves and waiting. When nothing happened, he blinked back, picking it up and shakily pressing the black button. The light clicked off and he frowned, turning it over and over in his palm.

Confused, he flipped through his note book until he found a similar sketch of the light container. It was a... a flashlight, apparently. grunting softly, he pocketed the thing and turned to walk off. He halted when he saw Jeff the Killer standing there, eyes wide in surprise. His ears burned slightly. what he just committed was rather childish and... well, unlike him. Choosing it was best to just leave the situation behind, he tied some of his bandages to the girls body, knowing he was too weak to carry it and dragged it away into the trees.

It was night now. You couldn't actually really tell by sight, as the forest always looked like night. I just could tell- as everything here could. Although none of us held the ability to sleep, we became much more sterotypically active. Well, I don't considering how I was born in the human world. I didn't have any family, considering how my kind is born as another dies... which explains why I've never met another of my kind. We all must return to the human world to create the next of the line, and then our existence is transported into the binding of the notebook as a protector.

If a recorder fails to make it to the human world, the notebook will be teleported to the human world- and the first human drawn to it will be teleported to the forest as the next recorder, where one of the previous souls imbedded within the notebook will embed into the human's bloodstream and live a second live until it can make the next recorder and will vanish instead of retreating back into the notebook- since there is only a second life- not a third.

We live forever, unless killed. If a recorder gets into a fight, which is rare, those within the book wustain the recorder's life just long enough to escape to the human world and create the next recorder.

Considering how the origional recorders bond with the book, if the notebook is destroyed, which is can only be if burned, the souls will cease to exist. Everything from the beginning of time is written down within the book, making it priceless to humans and monsters. Humans call it "truth," and "Secrets", but we call it "history". Thats what it is, thats what its always been.

They never stop writing. A second of pass could end in a major event not recorded by the truth- no matter how harsh. This is their life and how they live it, no alternatives exist for them. Its very blunt, very clear. Our "fate", our entire existence, revolves around this.

We may not stop writing. Every passing moment, something happens, whether small or largely impacting others. The only excuse for a break is for more "ink" and to rewrap the bandages when they occasionally fall off. You write, record, and observe.

The recorder hissed loudly as a large blot of "ink" escaped his pen, drenching the pages and what had been written. Rigid with terror, he frantically flipped through the pages, wiped away the blood, tried to dry it, something, anything. The words were unreadable, incomprehensible. It was a terrible crime, to destroy the recordings.

A crime worthy by death.

It would not matter should he not immediately travel ton tge Human world. It was too far, he would not make it. His hands felt filthy, ancient ink stains turning to slime and seeming to crawl into the ragged skin of his hands. He felt disgusting, unclean even for a monster.

Hyperventilating and panicking, he drew a switch blade and tore away his bandages, slicing at his palms, his fingers, his arms and wrists and the back of his hand. His knuckles bore stinging criss cuts and the slime seemed to ooze from each cut. It swam through his blood-flow, causing him to cut up his body where he felt it. He was going dizzy from blood-loss.

The slime choked him and he coughed it up from his throat, shaking hands bring the knife to his neck. He had to get it out.

He had to.

* * *

This story is actually being rewritten, seeing as the original I wrote was two years ago...

(And sucks ass -Light)

ignore Light it wasn't that bad.

(It was pretty bad -E)

Ignore E as well. I'm too fabulous for theses blitches.

(Britches. -both)

Okay they need to **SHUT THE FLUCK UP.**

**Srsly tho dont copy**


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